


I'm Dedicating Every Day to You

by CuriousBlossom



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2018-10-28 02:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10821747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousBlossom/pseuds/CuriousBlossom
Summary: Theodosia has grown up in her father's shadow, longing to be the first female lawyer that her father has always known she could be. Boys are not exactly her cup of tea, usually because they tend to be inferior, at least in her mind. Until she meets Philip Hamilton, the 19 year old son of Alexander Hamilton, her father's enemy. And suddenly she finds herself falling head over heels for the boy she swore she would never love.Updates soon! (I hope)





	1. A Different Girl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theatrix_queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theatrix_queen/gifts).



> I've been wanting to write a Hamilton fanfic for so long and I'm super excited to share this with you! It's gonna be emotional, so consider this your warning. You all probably know the basics so.... let's go!!!
> 
> Also, a huge thank you to theatrix_queen for being my total best friend through this. She's writing an amazing Hamilton fanfic that I recommend checking out.
> 
> Sorry if the updates are a little slow, I'll try and get them up as quickly as possible. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Soft sunlight seeps through my feather white curtains and onto the pillow. Delicate and beautiful, it dances in a swirl of yellow. But my face is not beneath the curtain of warmth that sits beautifully upon my pillow. Instead, I stand at the window, facing the town of Manhattan from my second story bedroom. It's peaceful in the early morning light, soft rays of sunlight painting the buildings in a golden hue. I smile thoughtfully at the city skyline, thinking of how I could write this into my poetry without mentioning the truth. I'm not supposed to be up, not until the sunlight hits my pillow. But I am usually up an hour or so before to see the sunrise and write in peace without the constant swish of skirts and clatter of shoes on the cobblestone roads in the background. Today is another such occasion. 

“Theodosia!” my father calls from downstairs, “Get ready, my dear, and then you can have breakfast.” His voice sounds tired, but still cheerful, as it does every morning. I know that he was probably writing last night, fighting for what he believes in. His work is considerably more important than my poetry. I never question what he's doing, not even when he seems sick or tired. I just help, in any way possible. Just like now. 

I pull on a yellow day dress, have one of the maids lace me up, and then rush down the stairs. My father is waiting for me, arranging jam and biscuits on a plate, back turned. I wrap him in a hug, barely coming up to his shoulders. He turns around, smiling, and kisses my forehead. “Good morning, Father,” I whisper. I push myself slightly away from him and stare at his face, noticing the dark circles underneath his eyes. 

“How did you sleep, darling?” he says softly, handing me the plate. I smile and take a small bite.

“Okay. Not the best that I've slept, though,” I say when I finish chewing. Father tilts his head, concern filling his eyes.

“Are you alright, Rosie? Do I need to get you any sleeping medicine? We can afford it, if you need some-” I stop him with a small smile and shake my head.

“I think that I'm just worried about the ball tonight. I don't want to make any mistakes, especially with the possibility of-” Father shakes his head and wraps me in another hug, the worry spreading from my face to his.

“Don't worry about it. That's my job. You'll be okay, you know that? I'll always be here, no matter what,” he says, “If anything, you should be excited. So many young men…” A playful smile crosses his lips. I punch him softly in the shoulder.

“Really?” I whine, “That’s what you care about? You know I'd rather be like you.”

“A girl lawyer is unheard of, Rosie,” Father says. I laugh. This is our little game we play whenever I mention being like him.

“And I'll be the first,” I say. He chuckles and then pushes me towards the stairs. 

“You should start getting ready. If it's going to take you as long as it used to take your mother to get ready,” he says, laughing. I wince a little bit at the mention of my mother. Though I don't remember her much, knowing that I'm like her is painful. I do miss her, even though Father has moved on. 

“Oh, I'll drag out my preparation until you say we'll be late and we already are,” I tease, walking up the stairs. I hear my father's laughter drifting up the stairs as I walk back into my room. 

I sit down at my desk and stare at the girl in the mirror propped up against the wall opposite me. Her dark hair curls around her ears and down her back, a cascade of dark brown trickling down her back. Her milk white skin shines slightly, brown eyes watching whatever seems to be in front of her. She is a sort of pretty, someone that a man could love. But she's me. 

And that's not what I want to fall for.


	2. Hamilton

The swish of skirts and the patter of feet is covered up by swelling music. I get lost in it for a second, not paying attention to my partner for long enough that I step on his feet. “Oof!” he exclaims. I blush violently and stare at him. He’s not extremely handsome, and from the conversation that he tried to have with me, not very smart. But it is my duty to dance with every man here, no matter how much it makes me want to throw up.

“I’m sorry, sir-” I begin, but the man cuts me off.

“No, miss, the fault was mine,” he says, kissing my hand. I have the temptation to jerk it away and wipe it on one of the pressed linen napkins on the tables surrounding the dance floor. But I do not. I just wait for the moment when I can slip away. When he doesn't leave, I continue the conversation.

“What’s your name, sir?” I ask. The man’s face lights up and he smiles broadly.

“John Mulligan,” he says. I smile and curtsy deeply, remembering when my father told me the names of those who were his friends. Mulligan was one of them. This must be his son. John bows and then walks away to ask another girl to dance, grinning madly. I can’t help but laugh. I’m turn to head off of the dance floor when a man about my age walks up to me.

“May I have this dance?” he asks politely. He smiles sheepishly when I don’t say anything right away. I would be lying if I said that that wasn’t a little cute. He looks at me for a second before talking again, “Sorry, this is my first ball. And my mom told me that I had to be really polite to the ladies, so…”

“No, no, the fault is mine,” I hear myself saying, “I should have said something. Oh, and yes, you can dance with me.” I can’t concentrate as the music begins. He's smiling at me, and his mouth is moving, but I'm not paying attention. All I can look at is his face. All I can think about is how I want his lips on mine...

It takes me a second before I can process my thoughts.

“ _Rosie, what are you doing? Shut your romantic side up and pay attention! He could be the one… actually, that's a lie. I'm not marrying anyone_ ,” I think, “ _But you really should pay attention…_ ” I blink a couple of times and look back at the man. He's stopped talking and is looking at me curiously.

“Sorry, I wasn't really paying attention. What did you say?” I ask softly, blushing a violent shade of red.

“Oh. That's okay. I stopped talking when I saw you staring at me. Do I really look that bad?” he says, gritting his teeth. I laugh softly at his nervousness. So I'm not the only one.

“No, no, you're fine. Although, your hair is kinda sticking up…” I reply playfully. He reaches self consciously up and tries to smooth his curly hair. I laugh when he realizes that I was lying, “But never mind. What's your name?” We twirl around the ballroom, moving to the music, before he replies. He swallows before he says anything.

“Philip,” he says, “Philip Hamilton, at your service, miss.” The music finishes just as he says this, and he bows, a smile on his lips at his perfect timing. This time, I don't smile. Instead, my face goes white.

“ _Hamilton. You've fallen for a- Nope, you just danced with a Hamilton, Rosie_ ,” I think. Philip comes up from his bow and stops still when he sees my pale face and blank stare.

“I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?” he asks.

“Yes. I mean… no, no. You're… you're great,” I reply quietly, tripping over my words as I try and find my voice again. He leads me off the floor and onto a little bench. We sit down and he takes my hands in his.

“May I ask your name, miss?” he asks me. I look at him, eyes on his. I smile weakly.

“Theodosia. Theodosia Burr, sir,” I say. He turns slightly pale, mouthing my name to himself. I slowly, as if on instinct, drop my gaze to his lips as they move.

“I hope to see you again, Miss Burr. It was nice to dance with you,” Philip replies. He gets up and walks away. I can see him trying to shake himself back into reality as he begins to dance with another lady. I can't help but watch him dance so that I can see those perfect steps again. I can't help but be angry that he's dancing with another lady. I can't help but notice that she's not an amazing dancer, but that he can cover it up.

I can't help but notice that he is watching me as he turns around the floor, as if watching for a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> I know just posted my first chapter yesterday, but I promised updates on Monday and Friday, so.... here's another chapter!
> 
> I'm so glad that you guys are loving it; it's super encouraging! Love you all!
> 
> And no offense to the Mulligans, I really do love them, but I needed some kind of irony.... :)


	3. The First Letter

Today, it is not the sun that wakes me up, not even the instinct to write in the peaceful morning air before the rays of light even touch the pillow. Today, it is my father, with a gentle knock on the door and a worried smile. I sit up in bed when he comes in and smile at him. The first thing I notice are how the circles under his eyes have gotten larger and darker. My smile quickly turns into a frown. “Are you alright, Father?” I ask, getting out of bed to give him a hug.

“Yes… I'm alright…” he says. He's distracted by something, his eyes glazed over, not really paying attention.

“You should take a break. Maybe eat something. You... have circles under your eyes…” I whisper into his ear, stretching up on the tips of my toes. Father shakes his head and kisses me on the forehead.

“I'm alright, pumpkin. It's just… governmental business. Nothing you should worry about right now,” he says. I push away and sit back down on the bed, looking at him quizzically.

“What happened?” I ask. Father begins to shake his head, but I'm determined to get an answer out of him, “No, I want to know. You're not getting out of this without telling me. This could be helpful...”

“Fine,” he sighs, “If you're going to be so stubborn. You know, you remind me of, well, myself, I guess. But I should tell you. Do you remember Alexander Hamilton? His family was at the ball last night…”

“Yes, “ I cough out, praying that my cheeks don't betray me, “I do. What about him?”

“He went and proposed a new form of government-”

“WHAT?!” I exclaim.

“Yes, and he talked at the convention that I went to last week for almost six hours. No one knew what to do,” Father says. He sounds exasperated. But I can't focus, like the way I couldn't last night. I knew that the Hamiltons were not the people that my father trusted from the very beginning. I never knew the reason why. But now I do. A six hour speech about something completely destructive and wrong? Not the move that I would have made. But that’s not the reason that I freeze.

I freeze because I realize that the man that my father talks about is the father of the man I danced with last night. I freeze because I understand that man in a way that I should not. He is fighting for what he believes in, and for some reason, I understand the feeling of disappointing everyone. Especially a father. I am not the son he wanted. I came into the world crying, and broke his heart. Maybe that should have been his cue to leave me alone. He loved me originally, promised to live for me, fight for me. But now, I know his pride only runs so deep. It can only run so deep with a rebellious girl like me. That must be how Alexander Hamilton feels. How his son felt when I denied him last night.

When I denied myself the man that I am beginning to love.

When I don’t say anything right away, my father walks away, shaking his head at the stupidity of the man that he hates. He turns just as he reaches the door. “Oh, and Theodosia, darling, this letter came for you,” he says, “I don't know who it's from... Maybe a lucky suitor that you've refrained from telling me about?” He laughs and tosses a letter onto my desk before walking out of the door. I look at the creamy white paper and red wax seal. My heart plummets into my stomach, searching for answers of who it could be from. I'm nervous. I can only tell because of my racing heart and shaking hands as I pick up the letter.

My name is written on the front in neat print, along with my address, and the same print signs an address that I don't recognize in the top left corner. I pry the letter open and slide the sheet of paper from inside. The letter has the same handwriting as the writing on the front, and is short, only a small paragraph filling a portion of the page. I drop the envelope on my desk and retreat to my bed, where I begin to read.

_Ms. Theodosia Burr,_

_I happened to stumble upon your address from a friend, and, remembering our meeting last night, decided the only correct thing to do would be to write. I enjoyed our conversation and dance at the ball, but wanted to ask you something. I hope that I don't sound impolite in saying this, or that you take it the wrong way, but I truly want to know. Is there a reason your face went white when you learned my name? And when it went even paler when you told me yours? I don't mean to pry, but it does worry me. My father doesn't know that you are from the Burr family- he would probably kill me if he did. But that's beside the point. If there is any way that I could see you again, I would like to, so that I could talk to you again._

_Yours,  
Philip Hamilton_

My eyes widen as I read the signature at the bottom. My heart flutters slightly in my chest, emotions flooding my brain. I can hardly concentrate enough to read the letter over twice more. When I finish, I set it down on the bed and look at the girl in the mirror once more. This time, her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are wide, and her gaze distracted by something not even there.

“Oh, Philip,” I breathe, “What have you done?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!!! Early update for you guys! Who's excited?!
> 
> So glad that you're loving it (I am too, it's so much fun to write)! I decided that I'd update a little early, since I got inspired to keep going! Also.... we've almost reached 100 hits! We're at about 75, and that's super cool! I'm so happy and love you all so much!!
> 
> :)


	4. A Sort of Phantom

The letter haunts my thoughts as I sit down to dinner. I can't get the words out of my brain, having read it thousands of times, looking for some kind of mistake. Of course, there wasn't one. Of course, the letter was meant for me. Of course, it makes my head spin every time I touch the place where the ink stained his name on the paper. I don't know if my father notices my unusual silence, but if he does, he doesn't say anything. He merely passes me the green beans and leaves me in my solitude. It seems he knows what I'm feeling, the feeling of being alone and having to wait for everything to come lest he be harmed or killed. I don't like the feeling much, so I gather myself and look up at him from my spot to the left of him.

“Good evening, Father,” I say, spooning some of the green beans onto my plate. My father looks up from his plate, his eyes dull, the circles under them seemingly growing in front of me.

“Good evening, Theodosia,” he replies, taking in my pale skin and trembling hands as I pass him the beans again.

“How was your day?” I ask softly. My father smiles and looks at me.

“I should ask how your day was. You were in your room all day, or, at least, for the whole time after I gave you the letter. May I ask who it was from?” Father says questioningly. I look at him, fork halfway to my mouth, frozen in place. Father notices my pause, but doesn’t say anything as I begin to speak.

“Oh. Just… a suitor from the ball. I reread the note a few times, but was utterly disgusted,” I say, trying to sound slightly haughty. My father laughs and his worry dissipates along with mine. It takes all of my concentration not to bite my tongue for the lie I told. Guilt washes over me, but leaves as soon as I see and hear my father’s smile and laugh.

"You'll always be skeptical about men, won't you, my dear?" Father asks teasingly.

"Of course," I say, smiling. Father laughs again and then resumes eating. I do the same.

The rest of dinner is silent, as I'm afraid to break the sudden peace and happiness that has fallen on us. It's not rare that this ever happens, but I like to savor the moments. It's a reminder of the fact that I have good life. And a reminder that I shouldn't be doing what I'm about to do.

When I get up to go to bed, my father places a hand on my shoulder. “You know,” he says, “If you ever find someone, Theodosia, I will not be opposed. I would like to know who, but I'm not worried about you. You've got a nice head on your shoulders and know where you're going. You'll be fine.” I smile, biting the tip of my tongue gently enough so that I don't draw blood.

“Of course, Father,” I reply. I walk up the stairs and into my bedroom, but I don't get ready for bed. In fact, I know that I won't be able to sleep tonight. Instead, I have other plans, something that I've thought of all day in my room. Instead of pajamas, I get in some comfortable pants, usually reserved for riding, and a soft shirt before pulling on my coat. The owner of the signature on the letter that haunts my thoughts will be satisfied by what I am about to do.

A second wave of guilt floods my brain as I open the doors to my balcony. My father will be so mad when he finds out. In fact, I shouldn't be doing this at all. Normal me, the me before the ball last night, wouldn't be doing this.

But the version of me that is falling for Philip needs to do this. It's not like me, but it's something I feel I need to do, lest I wish to be haunted forever.

A few minutes later, I'm walking down the streets of Manhattan in the dark, reviewing my mental map. I pray that I don't make a wrong turn as I round the last bend. At the end of the road I stand on is a little blue house with white shutters. All of the lights are off except one. The shadowed figure confirms my suspicions. When I reach the house, I knock on the window. “Hello?” a voice calls sleepily into the night. The figure that leans out of it looks confused momentarily, and then he sees me. A small smile appears on my face as I stand up.

“Hello,” I reply, “I got your letter. Is now okay to see you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another update for you guys! Sorry if it's a bit short, I'm setting up for something really good! Might update early again... :)
> 
> Also, thanks for helping me reach 100 hits! Love you all! <3 :)


	5. Daydreams

“Why are you here? Why now?”

The same question that Philip has asked for the last few minutes when I refuse to respond. The same question that I have been asking myself since I got here. All I can think about is the fact that I am alone with a boy in his bedroom in the middle of the night. That his parents and mine will freak out if they find out about this or the fact that we are not where we’re supposed to be right now. Asleep. My focus is anywhere but the conversation until I feel my hands shaking. I snap out of my daze and look at the man sitting across from me, a look of worry on his face. Finally, though, I have an answer. It’s not particularly good, but it’s the best that I can think of with my concentration so scattered.

“I… I couldn’t stop thinking about the letter. I wanted to talk to you again. I wanted to tell you the things that my father said about yours. I wanted to apologize…” I say. I bite my lip to stop tears from flowing down my face, silently cursing myself for being emotional due to lack of sleep.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Philip replies, his voice a tired whisper. He smiles softly and takes my hand, which trembles in my lap. I don’t jerk away. In fact, I’m focusing to hard on the conversation, trying not to fall asleep, to notice his rough, chapped hand close around my own soft, smooth one.

“No, no. You deserve to know,” I whisper, “My father, Aaron Burr, doesn’t exactly _like_ your father. He… he called your father stupid for his governmental plan… and the letter made it ten times worse to hear… I kept playing my father’s words and yours over and over in my head. It made me delirious. I couldn’t think straight. I still can’t, but that might be from exhaustion…” I smile and Philip smiles as a small laugh escapes from his lips. He immediately puts a hand to his mouth, and his eyes go from calm to terrified in seconds.

“Do you… do you think that you could go back outside? Look, I’ll bring a blanket. I just don’t want my parents to hear us,” Philip whispers quickly. He drops my hand as I walk to the window. I climb out and he passes me a blanket. He starts to climb out after me when a soft, melodious voice drifts through the door.

“Are you alright, Philip?” the voice calls. It belongs to a woman, and I can only suspect that this must be Philip’s mother. I freeze and duck underneath the windowsill, but the door doesn’t open.

“Yes, I just woke up and knocked something off of the table,” Philip says quickly.

“Are you sure? I thought I heard voices… Do I need to come in there-”

“No, mother. It must have been the wind,” Philip replies. He looks at me and smiles. I hear footsteps as the person retreats, presumably back to the bedroom where the came from. Philip climbs through the window as soon as the footsteps fade, shutting it behind him. I wrap the blanket around myself before pausing. I look at Philip who is shivering as the cool night air wraps around his body. I move next to him and put the blanket around both of our shoulders. Philip smiles gratefully, but doesn’t say anything. I look at my lap, fending off the tears that threaten to run down my cheeks.

“Is that really why you came?” Philip asks me after a moment of silence, taking my hand again. I look into his crystal brown eyes, seeing the question that lies in them.

“ _Why_ did _I come?_ ” I ask myself mentally. I have no answer. All I do I move closer to him, shivering against the cold. He wraps his arms around me and I lean into the warmth that he gives me. It doesn't last long. Soon, I can't feel anything. The wind cuts through the blanket, my clothes, right to my heart. The numbness floods me, which is why I can't feel anything when Philip moves closer to me.

I can't feel anything other than the electricity in my heart when his lips touch mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. Just kinda dropped a bombshell. Did you like it? :)
> 
> Love you guys, and thank you for all of the support!!


	6. The Second Letter - and Memories

I get home rather early in the morning, even earlier than when I usually wake up to write. Getting up to my balcony is easier than it should be, and all I can hear is the gentle whisper of the wind behind me. The logic inside of me tells me to take my shoes off, to go to my room, to sleep and forget about everything, to just be Theodosia Burr - independent and all alone. It takes all of my strength not to obey my own mind. For there is something I must do first.

I go to my room and change into my nightgown before sitting down on my bed with the letter that Philip wrote to me. I don’t look at it, although the screams in my head seem to be controlling where my gaze strays. The decision I have to make seems larger than anything I’ve ever done, daunting and something that could change everything I’ve ever known, although in reality it must seem so small to anyone else that I could tell. It takes a moment for me to gain the courage to decide what I am about to do, but It seems that I’ve already made up my mind. A pen in my shaking hand, I pull a new sheet of paper from underneath the letter and begin to write.

_Philip,_

_There is so much I wish that I could say, but since time is short at the minute, and I am afraid of being caught with this letter in my possession, I will be brief (as you were in your letter to me)._

_First, I am sorry for any trouble I caused through my meeting with you. I just - I couldn’t bear another second thinking about your letter without doing anything. And my father - well, you understand my need for the urgency, I’m sure._

_Secondly, (and most likely lastly), I wish for us to meet again, but at more of an… appropriate time and place. But where, I do not know. If we are seen together, there is a chance that word may spread and our fathers would find out and then… well. You know. And with what happened when I met with you, and with what I felt at the ball…_

_Philip, you must know that I am a woman of logic and reason, most like Angelica Schuyler, if you are familiar with the name. But with you, I forget everything._

_~~Sincerely~~ Yours, _

_Theodosia (Rosie) Burr_

I pause before I sign the letter, taking the time to cross out the 'sincerely' and replacing it with 'yours'. It seems better, it seems to explain what I feel so much more. I seal the envelope just as it is time for me to go downstairs, as I hear my father’s voice from down the stairs. “Theodosia?” he says. He sounds tired, like every day. Today should be another day like no other, but it feels different. When I open the door, dressed and ready to face the day, I try my best to smile when I hand the letter to my maid.

“Just deliver this. It’s something that Father wanted me to do with each suitor, but this is just the first he said I should say something to. He seems to want to get this out of the way,” I say, a laugh on my lips. The maid nods and then disappears. Her certainty is unsettling, as it is something I should feel too. But it's nothing I feel anymore.

I touch my lips. In two weeks, they won’t remember the feel of his touch. But my brain keeps the memory fresh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Sorry that its been awhile, I've been so busy and (unfortunately) uninspired. Recently, I have been reading a few fanfics and have become inspired so... here it is...
> 
> (Also, little promo for my friend theatrix_queen, who wrote a Hamilton fanfic that's completed and is really awesome. If you haven't read it, I recommend)
> 
> I know it's getting dramatic, and it'll be ok. And yeah, I've been leaving a lot of cliffhangers. I'm trying to set up for something pretty good. If you're still reading this story (even though it has been LITERALLY FOREVER and you are probably screaming at me for not updating, if you care that much) thank you so much for your support. Also, sorry that this chapter is so short, I am just trying to write this again for all of you. I love all of you, and thank you for all of the kudos. 
> 
> Love you guys! :)


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